


At Least the Food Is Good

by MademoiselleSarcasme



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant?, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MademoiselleSarcasme/pseuds/MademoiselleSarcasme
Summary: Dick Grayson has dug himself a hole. Bruce wanted him to take a lovely stranger to this . . . gala . . . and Dick panicked and said he had already invited Rachel. So now he has to bring her. as his date. to a THING.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Rachel Roth, Robin/Raven
Comments: 9
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I would do this for RobRae Week 2018 (which is, for those keeping score at home, in April); here we are, August 2020, and it's finally finished.

The “incoming video call” icon flashed in the center of Dick’s desktop screen. BRUCE.WAYNE read the username. D!ckGrysn05 hit the green phone to accept it.

“Hey Bruce, what’s going on?” Dick asked. By the choice of contact method, this was clearly Wayne Enterprises business.

“You know the gala we’re attending next month? The one in New York?”

“You mean the massive fundraiser dinner? The one you told me to get white tie for? Yeah, what about it?”

“The daughter of the head of S.T.A.R. Labs’ Kyoto branch is going to be attending with her parents, and I was wondering if you would escort her. She’s about your age, you know, and if you hit it off, well . . .” Bruce Wayne trailed off, and a little voice in the back of Dick’s mind began to quietly panic. _Is this some kind of businessman-arranged-marriage thing???_ he thought to himself frantically. 

Attempting to maintain a modicum of cool, he said aloud, “Oh, uh . . . I actually already have a date. For that event.” He hoped his fluster wasn’t visible.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? What’s her name?”

“. . . Rachel.” This made Bruce’s eyebrows crawl up another half-inch, threatening to leave his forehead entirely.

“Rachel . . . Roth? Lives-in-the-same-house-as-you Rachel? That Rachel?”

“. . . yes,” Dick said, desperately hoping that the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t rising to pink them. “It’s been pretty quiet for a while. Taking it slow.”

“. . . I see.” Bruce Wayne’s surprise had not yet departed his face, but he appeared to be regaining control of it. “Well, I already ran a full background on her, so I guess that saves that step. When were you planning to let me know?”

“When’s the RSVP deadline, again?”

“Next week, I think.”

“Then.”

“Mm-hmm. Please let her know that it will be uncouth if she goes around with a hood over her face. You represent the Wayne family just as much as I do, and if she is your date, she must be dressed accordingly.”

“I’ll make sure of it, sir.”

“You can put it on the company tab, though. I won’t consider it part of the Titans’ allowance, since this is Wayne business.”

“I was banking on that, sir. Thank you.”

Tch. Bruce’s eyebrows, having drifted back down from their surprised location, scrunched together. His forehead was clearly getting its usual “talking to my teenage son” workout.

“Very well, then; you’d best get on that soon. Tailoring takes time.”

“Yes, sir. Over and out.”

\---

Robin knocked on Raven’s room door, loath to disturb her, but he figured he might as well get this part over with quickly -- like taking off a band-aid. Her door hissed open with no indication of her having touched it, and she stood in its frame, silently.

“Hi. Uh . . . is now a good time?” Robin asked, absently half-scratching, half-rubbing the back of his neck beneath the cape. It was a little uncomfortable, all of a sudden.

“For what?” she asked in response, twitching an eyebrow upwards.

“For . . . a conversation, and an invitation, and maybe an excursion.” The second eyebrow rose to meet the first, but the rest of the face remained impassive. “In that order,” added Robin, trying to add information to help her decide.

“Let’s hear the first, and go from there.” She didn’t move to invite him in, so he leaned on the doorframe. It was partly an attempt to play cool, partly an attempt to quell his shaking knees, and partly a way of settling himself in. Her eyes followed his action, but again, she said nothing.

“So . . . this isn’t Titans business. It’s personal.” He stopped for a moment, allowing her time to respond, but she denied the opportunity with continued silence. “You know how my adopted dad is a businessman?” Her blink seemed to be an affirmation. “Well . . . there’s this fundraiser gala next month, and Bruce asked if I’d bring this girl who’s the daughter of some lab guys . . .” he trailed off lamely, trying to think through the most diplomatic approach. The envelope of silence still surrounded Raven, unbroken by her own words or reactive noises. Having assembled his thoughts in a proper order, Robin began again. “And I sort of panicked and told him I was bringing you.”

Raven’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“. . . Yeah. But, like, not Raven you.” She continued staring at him, while his eyes sought the comfort of her doorframe to avoid her burrowing and slightly icy gaze. “I told him I was bringing Rachel.”

“Is there anything we need to talk about?” she asked dryly. “Because I probably don’t actually want to hear it.”

“No, no, I don’t know why I did this, but now I dug this hole and was hoping . . . maybe . . . Raven. Rachel. Would you be my date to this fancy gala thing?” 

His face was so many things: hopeful, desperate, embarrassed. Raven relented. “Okay, but you’re buying.”

“Of course. Uh . . . there’s something else. Sort of a catch.” She resumed staring until he explained further. “Ba-- er, Bruce said you can’t show up looking like that. That you will be helping me represent the Wayne family. So . . . the excursion. To go get you something to wear. Are you free?”

Raven twisted her head to check a clock that Robin couldn’t see. “Sure. You’re still buying.”

\---

“So just to be clear,” Robin explained through the dressing-room door, “this is not an actual date, I just didn’t want to escort some girl I’d never met before, and I guess I panicked.”

Raven cracked the door open just enough to poke her head out; a lot more shoulder was visible than usual. Robin hoped once again that the heat in his face was invisible. “Way to make a girl feel special,” she replied. “You’ve only repeated that about four times since we started this trip.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Zip me up, would you?” The door opened about halfway, and Robin blinked beneath his mask. It felt more than a little intrusive to see that much of Raven’s back, but he tried to regain his sense of professionalism and neatly ran the zipper up to the top, even double-checking for a hook and eye. In the dressing-room mirror, he caught a glimpse of the moment; the moment was quickly overshadowed when she turned to face him full-on. “So . . .” she stared at him, expectantly.

“Uhhhh. . .”

The dress itself was stunning: floor-length, pale gold, and covered in millions of tiny sequins. She looked magnificent in it, as well; no worries there. But there was something in her posture that looked uncomfortable and insecure, and Robin scrunched up his forehead as he racked his brain trying to figure it out. 

Standing there, slightly chilly, feeling a bit foolish, Raven awaited Robin’s judgment. She hadn’t been to a white-tie event before, so his advice was her guidance here, but he had . . . questionable taste. This champagne one was her choice, based on the shapes of some of the more garishly-coloured dresses he had originally suggested. She was still a little blinded by the shade of yellow he kept gravitating towards, so this was . . . better. But still out of her comfort zone. Maybe that’s what he was picking up on.

“How do you feel?” asked Robin. 

Raven shrugged. “Expensive. Fancy?”

“You uh . . . look a little uncomfortable. Is it too tight?” Of course it wasn’t; it had zipped up just fine.

“No, it’s just . . . not me, I think.” She tugged a little at where it flared back out, just below the knees. “And this makes it impossible to kick bad-guy butt.”

Robin nodded his agreement. “We can find something in black if you want.” Raven looked at him, curious. So he _was_ paying attention, sort of. He didn’t seem super enthused about black, however.

“How’s blue?” she asked.


	2. Chapter 2

The fateful day had arrived at last, and Robin was fussing minutely with his bow tie. It was impeccably tied and needed no such fussing, but he was antsy and fidgety for no particular reason. Wayne events didn't usually make him this nervous, no matter how unnecessarily fancy; but now he was taking a date, and that changed everything. It wasn't even a real date! He'd just panicked! Robin's fidgety fingers moved down to straightening his waistcoat and searching for stray threads on any visible buttons: if something needed to be mended, that would buy him even more time before he would have to go get Raven -- _she's Rachel today,_ he corrected himself -- from the living room area of their excessively fancy hotel suite. He stared at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, ignoring the luxuriously spacious surrounding bathroom, and sighed quietly to himself. Nothing needed mending; it was time to go.

"Finally, you're out." Raven -- _Rachel_ \-- brushed past him into the bathroom, a blur of blue. The door was closed before Robin had a chance to open his mouth in response, so he kept moving. His anxious hands had made their way to his cufflinks, absentmindedly spinning each alternately in tidy half-turns.

“We have plenty of time, you know,” he offered through the closed door.

“We HAD plenty of time,” came the muffled response. “You took longer than Cyborg to preen, and now -- oof --” The strain in her voice was evident, and a small scuffle ending in a thump was audible outside the bathroom door.

“Do you need help?” Robin wasn’t expecting an affirmative answer -- Raven never accepted help normally, so why would she now?

“I think . . . I got it. All good.” The scuffling continued more quietly and Raven didn’t say anything else, so Robin dedicated his attention to mentally rehearsing myriad ways of introducing her.

“Oh, yes, it’s nice to see you again. Have you met my --” wait. What to say here? Girlfriend? No, absolutely not. Date? Workable. Friend? True, but could be taken weirdly. “. . . and this is Rachel.”

“Are you talking to yourself or to me?” The bathroom door was open a crack and Robin could see blue fabric and violet hair through it.

“Oh, I, uh. Didn’t realise I was talking out loud.” Robin felt the blood rise to his face and hoped very hard that he wasn’t blushing visibly.

“Heard my name. Need help?” Raven nudged the door open further with her foot, so he could see her in profile, leaning over the sink to better see herself in the mirror. She was fastidiously applying eyeliner with a steady but uncertain hand as she spoke.

“I’m just trying to figure out how best to introduce you, since you’ve never been to any of these functions before and there’s lots of people who will know me as Bruce Wayne’s son,” admitted Robin. “I didn’t plan this far in advance yet.”

“Why not just your friend?” Raven had moved on from eyeliner to eyeshadow and was very patiently smudging coloured pigments onto her face in the appropriate places.

“Well, I _am_ supposed to be in school. Classmate, maybe?” Invisible gears turned in Robin’s head as he tried to shore up the shoddy and half-hearted lie with some substantial backstory.

“Mm.” Her response had a downward lilt in tone, suggesting it was more negative than noncommittal. Robin abandoned the tale-spinning to change the subject and ask a question which had been niggling at him for the past few minutes:

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Mm?”

“Makeup. You don’t wear it. And it looks . . . hard.” This question had sounded way better in his head than out loud. Much smoother.

“Magazines.” If he looked closely, Robin thought he could see a touch of real pink on her cheeks underneath the thin layer of brushed-on pink she’d added.

“You get magazines?” He was racking his brain now, trying to remember every glimpse into her room he’d ever seen -- if anything was brightly-coloured or photograph-heavy, he was sure he would’ve noticed it by now.

“No. Dentists do.” She’d turned away from the mirror and away from him, so all he could see was the back of her head -- and the back of her dress. Cascading navy satin hinted at movements but didn’t indicate much else.

“Why don’t you just bring one of your own books?” She had so many and usually wouldn’t be seen anywhere around the Tower without one on her person.

“They’re . . . hard to find. I don’t want to lose them.” Robin blinked hard as Raven -- _definitely_ Rachel! -- turned to face him.

“I, uh. Uh. You look. Nice.” For the third time in what felt like as many minutes, the blood was rushing back up to his face, and this time he wasn’t sure he could count on it not showing. He made a small show of checking his watch, turning his face away so he wouldn’t stare and maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t see the blush.

“Thanks. You, too.” 

Robin looked up at last to see Raven looking hard at him. “What?” he asked, feeling scrutinised and more than a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

“You’re not actually planning on wearing your mask to this gala, are you?” she tipped her head to one side in curiosity.

“Oh. Oh! No, I’m not,” he admitted. Gently and with both hands, Robin peeled the mask off his own face, rubbing the places it had adhered a little too harshly. “Better?” he asked.

“Y--yes,” she answered, looking away.

“Really?”

“I just -- I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen your face without your mask on before.” She was clearly having trouble making eye contact, so Robin didn’t pursue the subject further.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

\---

The ballroom was buzzing with chatter as the elitest of New York’s elite circulated and socialised. It was an election year, so everyone was out in force, hoping to see and be seen. Raven held on tentatively to Robin’s arm, letting herself be led through the crowd.

“First things first, let’s find our table,” Robin murmured to Raven. “Then we’ll know where we need to be when the speeches start.”

"So who will I be introduced to this evening?" asked Raven.

"Lots of people," answered Robin. "But you’ll only need to know the names of the people at our table, and they’ll have name cards at their places.”

"Dick!" a tall man waved from behind a seat at the table Robin had indicated would be theirs. Everything about him reeked impeccable tailoring. “Come here! Say hello!” A young woman dressed in clean, classic black hovered behind him, more shadow than companion.

“Bruce, Cassandra, this is Rachel. Rachel, Bruce Wayne. And this is Cassandra Cain.” Robin made the appropriate introductory gestures as Raven smiled and nodded politely. Cassandra’s eyes didn’t move from Raven’s face, studying her features and movements intently. Raven returned the gaze, prepared to settle into a staring contest.

“Rachel, it’s so nice to meet you. Dick has told us wonderful things,” Bruce declared, reaching for Raven’s hand to shake it. She obliged, pulling out her best manners along the way and extracting herself from the study of Cassandra.

"Ro-- _Richard_ is a wonderful person. It’s an honour to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Oh-hoho, he’s ‘Richard,’ is he?” Bruce turned to Dick, whose face now was creeping back into the uncomfortably pink zone he had so heartily hoped to avoid revisiting. “Well, _Richard,_ I think your lady is lovely. She’s a real asset to the Wayne family, and I hope you take good care of her.”

“Th-thanks,” said Dick, head spinning a little from both embarrassment and whiplash. What happened to the disapproval of Rachel? What did Bruce think this relationship was? What did _Raven_ think this relationship was, now?

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” concluded Bruce, clapping his adopted son on the shoulder. “Settle in, mingle. I’ve got to go see a man about a house.” He turned and was quickly just another man in the crowd, coattails sweeping the air behind him. Cassandra gave another acknowledging nod and followed him just as closely as she had stood before.

Dick Grayson, first Robin, first adopted son of Bruce Wayne, was speechless for several seconds. Thankfully, Raven came in to save the moment. “Well, it looks like these are our seats,” she said, gesturing to two place settings at the round table. The name cards gave it away: _Dick Grayson,_ immediately to the left of _Rachel Roth._ She had started reading around the table when Robin recovered his ability to speak.

“Ok, so that’s us. Next to you is my brother Tim, and . . .” walking around the table, he read the cards out in order: “. . . his date, Steph. Then there’s Murray Takamoto -- he’s the head and founder of Kyoto’s S.T.A.R. Labs branch, since his work at the Coast City branch went so well -- and his daughter, Imako, oh, _and_ his son Yasu. Bruce was determined to make this dinner an opportunity to win them over to working with Wayne Enterprises, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to set up Cass with Yasu.” 

Raven’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, so _this_ is the business girl you didn’t want to take as a date. And she’s sitting at our table. This won’t be awkward at all.”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable in his own clothes all of a sudden. “Y-yeah. It should be fine. I hope.”

Gravely, Raven turned to Robin and looked him full in the face, her previous discomfort with his mask-less state appearing to be gone. It dawned on Robin that he hadn’t ever made eye contact with her without his mask on, so this was a bit of a first for both of them. “Robin. Dick. Richard. It’s clear that some things are being assumed of us. I’m happy to go along with it for you, but I need you to be straight with me. Does Bruce think we’re actually dating?”

The hot flush crept back into Robin’s face for what felt like the millionth time that day. “Yye-- nnn-- . . . I . . . He hasn’t said so outright, but that seems to be his assumption.”

Raven nodded gravely. “Then today, that is the truth. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Batman.”

This time, it was Robin’s eyebrows that shot up. “Wh-- how did you know?”

Raven smiled and tapped his forehead. “Been in your head, remember? I know most of the people at our table that way. But I know he’s being Bruce Wayne today, just as you are being his dutiful son. So what do you want me to be?”

Robin found that he couldn’t continue to meet her eyes. “I . . . I really just want you to be Raven,” he admitted.

“But that isn’t why I’m here,” she reminded him. “So who do you want me to be, Richard?” She put a little bit of stress on his full first name, a small wry smile illuminating her own face.

“You can be . . . my friend Rachel,” he mumbled lamely.

“That would definitely disappoint Batman.” The wry smile was turning into a cross between a mischievous grin and a truly sincere smile, albeit one full of nerves. Robin wished from the bottom of his heart that a thunderbolt could strike him dead on the spot, or that he could melt into the plush carpeted floor -- anything so that he wouldn’t have to face this problem. But the eyes of his teammate -- his friend, even -- were fixed steadily on his face, and there was no getting out of this situation gracefully. This was, after all, a scenario of his own making.

“Fine,” he relented. “But we should have some rules.”

“I’m listening.” She hadn’t stopped staring at his face. He wondered what she was thinking, but dismissed that tangent in favour of the matter at hand.

“First, we don’t publicly admit to dating, since that would be a lie. If this façade is for Bruce, he’s the only one who benefits from it.”

“Very well. Rule two?” (To herself, she was trying to figure out what colour his eyes were. The ballroom lighting cast a yellow hue on all its inhabitants, which was making them appear almost green.)

“Rule two, no kissing. Actually, we should minimise any public affection. Obviously, I’m still expected to escort you, but that might be the full extent of it. I think you can hold my arm even if I’m not escorting you.” He was thinking out loud, trying to draw clear boundaries that would also make Raven -- someone who he knew to be somewhat standoffish, to say the least -- feel comfortable.

"Anything else?" (Were they green? Were they blue and just looked green because of the yellow lighting? Were they grey?)

"Well . . . no, not unless you have any conditions you want to add." Robin was feeling both scrutinised and like he had left something out.

“So . . . is this just for today? Or will I need to get used to being dressed up and paraded around?” Raven gestured to their surroundings as she said this, attempting to take in the whole of the situation with one hand.

“Bruce isn’t expecting me at any other events for a while,” answered Robin, running through his mental list of Wayne Family Functions. “I think the next big thing will be the holidays, and I can either say you’re somewhere else or we broke up by then.”

“I didn’t know you were so fickle,” said Raven, good humour sparkling in her eyes.

"I'm not! This is just . . . new. I don't lie to Bruce. Leave things out, sure. Outright lie? Never." Robin couldn't meet Raven's gaze any longer and stared at the ballroom floor, still wishing on a deep level that the floral carpet could swallow him whole. Maybe it could swallow both of them and they could run away together and pretend this all never happened: or start over, even.

"Then you can just be your cheery self," declared Raven, “and I will play along.” It was weird to Robin, being described as "cheery" by a member of his team -- after all, they tended to see him as their serious leader. But she had been in his head, so she knew all the roles he played and the non-Titans sides to him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He smiled at her wanly, trying to muster up enough enthusiasm to cover the anxiety and maintain the cheery persona for his adoptive family.

Robin’s anxious fretting was interrupted by Raven’s genuine enthusiasm: “Rob-- Richard. _Canapés._ ” She grabbed his arm to turn his attention towards the black-tailed server navigating the tightly-packed tables some short distance away.

“Oh, those aren’t even the best ones,” he said, the cheeriness flooding back with the distraction. “Come on, let’s go see if we can’t sample them all before dinner.”

\--

“Rae,” mumbled Robin around his mouthful of miniature crab cake, “we gotta get back to the table.”

Raven looked at him with a look somewhere between despair and horror, a tiny spanakopita in one hand and her own crab cake in the other. “But we didn’t get any of the bacon-wrapped scallops!”

“They’re probably all gone by now,” he answered, idly sucking his teeth to get any lurking crab cake remnants. “Besides, it’s dinner time. They’re going to serve the salads and start the speeches.”

A quick scan of the room revealed that the mysterious servers with their seemingly magical ever-full trays had, in fact, vanished from the ballroom and that previous party minglers were now moving with purpose towards what appeared to be pre-designated points. Robin and Raven added their own deliberation to the tableward shuffle, both slightly on high alert as they were wont to be in densely-packed crowds. Raven munched as she walked, attempting to appear nonchalant while her eyes darted across every person in her fifty-foot visual radius. If it weren’t for the crowds and the annoyingly slinky dress, she thought, this might be fun again some time.

There was another dark-haired man at the table already, not yet seated; Raven sized him up silently as they approached. Slightly taller than Robin; bit squarer in the jaw, too. Not quite as lean. He was flanked by two women: one clearly his date and wearing the champagne colour Raven had previously entertained; the other more of his shadow, dressed in classic black. 

"Tim! Good to see you again! How's the business?" Robin gave his not-quite-brother a not-quite-hug.

"Same old, same old," answered Tim. "Who's your lady?" he asked, turning to face Raven.

"Tim, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Timothy and Stephanie," he gestured to the woman in champagne. 

"Rachel, huh? Haven't seen you before. Hope Dick's keeping you apprised of who to know around here." Tim's eyebrows raised fractionally as he tipped his head, encompassing the entire event in his gesture.

"Ro-- _Richard_ has been wonderful. It's a pleasure to meet you, Timothy. Stephanie." Raven nodded to each in turn. Stephanie came forward to greet her with . . . a hug?

“Good to meet you at last,” she declared, as if Raven’s existence had already been a staple of Robin’s life outside the Titans. The slight confusion must have flickered in Raven’s eyes, and Stephanie whispered in her ear as she pulled a slightly-reluctant Raven into a hug: “Bruce has been freaking out when he thinks we can’t hear,” as if this would answer all of Raven’s unspoken questions. But the somewhat-awkward hug was over almost as quickly as it began and Raven didn’t have time to voice any of her confusion; she recovered almost instantly with a thin smile, as sincere as she could muster.

“Speeches are about to start, Tim,” cut in Robin, saving Raven from any further social discomfort. He pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit, and Raven took the seat almost thoughtlessly. All of Robin’s actions were now clearly routine and practised; the unbuttoning of the suit jacket, the easy-but-still-alert lounging in his own seat.

While the rest of the table was also settling into their seats, Raven leaned close enough to Robin that they could reasonably not be overheard; at quarters this close, however, it meant her nose was effectively in his hair. She could smell his shampoo: clean, unobtrusive. “I can get my own chair,” she whispered.

“I know,” he answered, smiling. “But that’s how it’s done at these things, so please let me do it.”

It was at this very moment that Bruce Wayne swept back to the table, date on his arm and Cassandra-the-shadow still close behind. “Whispering, are we?” His voice was just loud enough to be only a little ostentatious but incredibly mortifying. Raven jumped in her seat, jerking away from Robin. “Anything to share with the class?”

“I -- uh --” Raven attempted eloquence.

“She was just telling me how nice it is to meet everyone,” cut in Robin smoothly. She shot him a look: mingled gratitude and frustration. It was masterful in its complexity.

“That’s right, it’s Rachel’s first time at a Wayne family function. Will we be seeing you at more of them in the future?” Bruce directed his question towards Raven. She was still unprepared, but a touch less flustered.

“Will they all have bacon-wrapped scallops?” she asked, buying time for herself to come up with a better, cagier answer to his question in case he pursued it further. She needn’t have worried; Bruce took this as an acceptable response, throwing his head back in laughter. It was so infectious that she caught herself smiling back at him.

By now, the Takamoto family had quietly appeared and seated themselves just in time for the pre-speeches-introducing to begin. As the lights dimmed and the small army of servers mysteriously reappeared to deliver salads to all open plates, Robin leaned over to Raven, this time his nose in her hair and his arm across the back of her chair.

“Good save,” he whispered. Her hair smelled nice.

“Thanks,” she whispered back, a subtle, sneaky smile in her eyes. He straightened up in his own seat, giving her back most of her personal space, but his arm didn’t leave the back of her chair. She found that this time, she didn’t mind it.

\----

It had been a long night of politicians giving speeches and telling self-deprecatory jokes poorly; Raven had eaten every single course put in front of her and was now uncomfortably full, but the thought of letting any of that delicious food go to waste would have haunted her for the rest of her life. Leaning into her role as Robin’s date, she had allowed him to escort her out of the event, and now they walked arm-in-arm through the cool October night. The wide sidewalks of New York were never empty, and tonight was no exception, but they all became background noise to the amiable silence between herself and Robin. There was even a sense of tranquility settling upon her shoulders. It was foreign to her -- alien, even -- but not unwelcome.

“Thank you, again, for agreeing to this,” said Robin, bringing her out of the half-reverie into which she seemed to have fallen.

“Of course, Richard,” Raven answered, for once not stumbling on the name.

“You know, you can just call me Dick,” he said. “Most people do.”

She raised her eyebrows and let a little mischief sneak into her eyes, twinkling yellow under the sodium streetlamps. “I’m not most people.”

“Well, you’re free now,” he said, attempting to ignore the mischief and hoping the pink tinge to his ears would be missed. “No more fancy parties, no more pretending to be dating. I’ll make something up come holiday time; you’re off the hook.”

“Actually . . .” she paused in her stride and let his arm go, causing him to get a step ahead of her. He stopped and turned around, face to face instead of side by side. “. . . I’d do this again some time.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline before he regained control of his face. “Really? I thought you hated the slinky dress and all the fancy people.”

Raven shrugged. “I had a good time. Let me know if you ever need another fake date.” She stepped forward, indicating that they should resume their walk to the hotel. “Besides, the food was great.”

“That it is,” he agreed. He walked in silence beside her for a couple dozen feet, then added, awkwardly and without making eye contact, “It’s also really good at the Christmas party.”

“Count me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O! What hubris! Attempting at a canon-compliant DC fic! My apologies for any mishaps, mix-ups, or weird slips in characterisation; there's a lot to keep track of.
> 
> (Also, if you happen to figure out what specific real-life event I had in mind for this gala setting, you get a virtual cookie.)


	3. BONUS: Raven's dress [image/artwork]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a picture, not a story.

I sketched up my idea of Raven's dress after a good bit of Googling and some alternate-history fashion thought experimenting.


End file.
